Counterweight
by raining.in.adelaide
Summary: The fundraiser is insufferably dull and Jack goes onto the balcony for a smoke. When a tall dark stranger named Pitch follows him, suddenly it's not so dull any more. Pitch/Jack, modern AU
1. Chapter 1

It's cold on the balcony but Jack doesn't feel it. He rarely feels the cold, and in any case, it's much colder inside with his dad doing his damnedest to ignore him.

It's some glitzy shindig, a fundraiser, but these things are always more about his dad than about charity. It was Jack's mom that started them, years ago, before she died, and he keeps them up so that everyone remembers her. It would be a beautiful gesture if his dad didn't taint it with his bitterness and twisted version of grief. Jack feels obliged to attend for the sake of his mom's memory, but there's only so many of his father's sneers and hateful looks that he can take before he needs a break.

And so he's out on the frosty balcony, smoking a cigarette that his dad would disapprove of, but then he disapproves of most everything Jack does.

The door slides open behind him, and Jack winces, afraid it's going to be someone come to yell at him – his dad or one of his friends, who share his opinion that Jack is wasting his life – but it's a stranger. Tall, slim, dark hair. He glances at Jack and their eyes meet. A heartbeat, another, and the stranger breaks their eye contact to nods at Jack's cigarette.

"Got a spare?"

Jack nods and fumbles in his pockets, swearing as he drops the packet on the floor.

"I'm Jack," he says as he retrieves it and offers the guy one.

"I know. I'm Pitch."

"Pitch? Weird name."

"A man named Jack Frost should be careful insulting someone else's name," Pitch says with a whisper of a smile and leans in to let Jack light the cigarette. The flickering orange glow of the lighter makes his eyes look golden, and Jack's mouth is suddenly dry.

"So, uh. What are you – media mogul, Wall Street, lottery winner? You gotta be some kind of rich to have my dad interested in you."

"Old money," Pitch says, and gives a self-deprecating little twist of a smile. "Very old."

"Like me, then."

"Like you."

Jack's family is as old money as the New World gets, his great-great-grandfather a railroad tycoon. He wonders what Pitch's story is. The British accent – the ridiculously _sexy _British accent – suggests his old money is much older than Jack's. He could even be royalty, Jack thinks with a thrill, and ridiculously glances up at his hair as if he expects to see a crown. There isn't one, of course. Just black hair with a few strands of grey, a hawkish bone structure and a suit that fits almost indecently well. Pitch knows how to dress. He also has a fantastic ass.

Blushing at his thoughts, Jack sucks in a lungful of smoke and blows it out slowly into the cold night air. When he glances back at Pitch, he sees that Pitch is watching him with something that looks very much like interest in his eyes.

Maybe tonight won't be so terrible after all. Getting fucked by an older stranger with that accent and that ass sounds like it might be pretty fun.

Leaning back against the balcony, keeping eye contact with Pitch, Jack grins up at him, crooked and (hopefully) flirtatious.

"So do you live in New York? Or do you have some Downton Abbey place back in England?"

"I live in New York, mostly. There's a 'Downton Abbey place', as you put it, where my parents live, but I have little interest in it."

"You live near here?"

"Near enough."

"And is there a Mrs Pitch?"

Pitch hitches at eyebrow. His gaze ducks to take in all of Jack, from hightops to bedhead, and then back down. There's a hungry flash of a smile but it's gone so quickly that Jack isn't sure it was there. "There's an ex-Mrs Pitch," he says. "And I have a five year old daughter."

Jack wonders if he says that to put him off, but he wants sex, not marriage, and he could care less if Pitch has kids. "She live with you?"

"No. With her mother."

"So – your apartment's empty? With a bed big enough for two?"

The flash of a smile is amused this time, and he inclines his head. "Indeed it is. And I think it's going to stay that way. Thank you for the cigarette, Jack."

Stubbing it out on the balcony, he throws it into the small trash can in the corner and goes back inside. Jack looks after him with narrowed eyes and takes another drag of his cigarette.

If Pitch thinks he's going to get away that easily, he's wrong.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. This story is actually kind of a modern AU of my fantasy blackice fic, The Heavy Weight of Duty, but it can totally be read on its own. The plan is to update every week on Fridays. I have a tumblr dedicated to Counterweight and The Heavy Weight of Duty, the link is on my profile. I hope you enjoyed the story!


	2. Chapter 2

Jack goes inside with the intention of finding Pitch. What he's going to do after finding Pitch he's not quite sure, but he thinks it'll be pretty fun.

The room is bright and glittering, obnoxious in its white marble and crystal chandelier grandeur. Everyone is dressed in something that cost at least a thousand bucks and they're knocking back the free champagne, trying to drink enough to pay for their entry fee.

In the sea of tuxes and ball gowns it's hard to spot Pitch, and before Jack gets much of a chance he hears his name being called. It's Ben, his dad's best friend and business partner. Jack gives him a quick smile and tries to turn back to his Pitch-spotting, but Ben isn't done with him. He approaches and puts his arm over Jack's shoulder, leading him to the front of the room.

"These tight-fisted socialites aren't giving up much of their money tonight," Ben says with a grin. "You know what they're like. The more money you have, the less willing you are to spend it."

"That's what they say," Jack says, feeling awkward. "But you always manage to raise record amounts every year."

"Yes indeed, and though this year's been disappointing, I've had a wonderful idea. Will you help me?"

"Sure, whatever," Jack says, wondering why Pitch is so hard to spot. He was well over six feet, he should stand out like a fucking giraffe.

"Excellent," Ben says, and pulls Jack up onto the small stage. Grabbing a spoon to rap against his glass, he attracts the attention of the room. Two hundred fake smiles turn to them, and Jack takes his elevated position to finally find Pitch, standing near the back of the room with a newly acquired glass of champagne.

"Thank you all for coming," Ben starts. "And for your continued support of our charity. The auction is about to begin, but before we start to look at vases and jewellery we have something much lovelier to auction off: Jack."

"What?!" Jack turns to stare at Ben, but with one hand on his shoulder, painfully tight, Ben thrusts Jack to the front of the stage. Either he can make a scene or he can roll with it; right now he's settling for frozen with shock.

"A date with Jack - now I know there are some ladies out there who are interested in that!"

A titter from the side of the stage - Marta and Melly, the daughters of one of his dad's friends and the nastiest pieces of work Jack's ever met. They have two favourite hobbies when they're with Jack: bullying topic _du jour_ (their favourites are blaming him for his mother's death or telling him that he's going to hell for being gay), or groping him in ways that only Jamie has ever touched him before. They'd look out of place in _Mean Girls _for being too awful and he abso-fucking-lutely has no desire whatsoever to go on a date with either of them.

"Ben," Jack whispers, "No, I don't want to-"

"And while it's officially just a date - well, it depends how much you bid," Ben adds with a wink, and Melly and Marta grin up at him. "Let's start the bidding at five hundred," Ben says, his had tightening even more on Jack's shoulder, making him gasp in pain.

What the hell is wrong with Ben? Is this actually happening? If Ben had ___asked _him then that would be a different thing, but ___Jesus._

Melly starts, is quickly outbid by an older lady that Jack doesn't recognise but who seems to be doing it for charity rather than for the sake of molesting Jack. The bidding goes to a third woman, clearly already drunk, and then is battered around between the three of them. The older lady drops out first, then the drunk, and Melly looks up at Jack with a nasty smile.

"Ten thousand dollars," Ben breathes, cheeks pink with excitement. "Anyone generous enough to too that?"

"Twelve thousand," says Pitch, and Jack looks at him with the deepest gratitude he's ever felt.

Ben smiles, delighted. "Twelve thousand! How generous!"

"Why would Jack want to go on a date with an old man?" Melly says, too loudly, and Marta mutters her agreement.

"He's hardly an old man and trust me, I want him _way _more than I want you," Jack says, directing his most charming smile at them.

"That's twelve thousand going once - unless we have any more bidders?" Melly and Marta whisper amongst themselves, but apparently this is out of their budget. Jack is so relieved he actually feels a little faint. "Twice - three times- Sold! Pitch, come forward to arrange your date!"

Smoothly Pitch works his way through the crowd, which parts before him in a wave of whispers. Pitch seems unconcerned by what anyone might think, so Jack decides to take the same mindset.

The compère takes their place on the stage, and Ben waves Pitch to a small booth at one aside of the room and pushes Jack into it.

"Most generous of you, Pitch. But then Jack is a pretty thing isn't he?"

After what just happened, Ben's words make Jack's skin crawl, and he moves away from his touch.

"It's very generous of Jack to agree to such a thing," Pitch says with an shrug. "I can have the money to you tomorrow."

"For a little extra, perhaps something - more - can be arranged," Ben says, and Jack pushes away from the table.

"What the hell, Ben?!"

"It's for charity, Jack," Ben says, his voice nothing but reason. "I told you - we haven't raised much this year. It would be such a shame if this was the first year that our figures went down, just because you came over all prudish."

"I will pay for a date and nothing more," Pitch says, looking at Ben through narrowed eyes. "I will assume that everything else is just a joke, and in poor taste at that. Considering that this is to raise funds for his mother's foundation, I can't even imagine what she would make of you trying to sell her son."

"Ah- Of course. All in jest." Ben beams widely. "Why don't I let you and Jack decide on where to go for your date? I have some turn-of-the-century figurines to sell!"

Ben hurries off and Jack slides back in his seat, feeling shaken. That ___was _just a joke, right? It must have been. He's known Ben all his life – thinks of him as an uncle. What kind of uncle would try to prostitute his nephew? It's ridiculous. It ___must_have been a joke.

Almost as ridiculous is the way that Jack feels kind of insulted that Pitch wasn't willing to pay to have sex with him. Of course, he'd have been fucking ___furious _if he had tried to negotiate a price with Ben. But still.

"You don't have to go on a date with me if you don't want me," Jack says, trying not to sound too petulant.

"And who says I don't want you?" He sips his champagne and there is a shimmer of heat in his gaze that makes Jack's mouth dry and makes his trousers suddenly seem uncomfortably tight.

Jack blinks. "Well - I - what just happened, you know? If it's just for _charity-_"

"It seemed to me that Benard was trying to force you into something that you didn't want to do. The way I see it, if the date goes well then we can reassess then. But if we do have sex, it will be because you want me, not because you were forced into it to uphold this strange version of charity."

"Huh," Jack says. "So- _Do _you want me?"

Pitch looks at him for a long, long moment and Jack realises that his eyes really do look golden, and they're really pretty, and for all that he's a long way from _handsome _Pitch is actually kind of hot. And then he reaches over the table, grabs Jack by the lapels and pulls him into a kiss. It's only a few seconds, little more than a brief flick of Pitch's tongue into his mouth, before Pitch pulls away and stands, straightening out his tux and looking down at Jack with a hitched eyebrow.

He offers a business card and Jack takes it, dazed and wondering how in the hell a five second kiss can be the best one he's ever had.

"Call me," Pitch says, and it's not a request.

He disappears back into the crowd and Jack stares after him.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack starts by googling Pitch by the full, ridiculous name on his business card. He has a Wikipedia entry - which delights Jack no end - complete with a less-than-flattering picture. It mentions that Pitch is forty-second in line to the British throne, which makes him a little overexcited and he texts Jamie to tell him that he has a date with a prince. He doesn't mention that Pitch isn't strictly a prince, or even a lord (that's his father's title) but it's still awesome.

It takes a while longer and a couple of beers before Jack gets up the courage to text Pitch. He writes and rewrites the message a dozen times before he finally comes up with:

_So when and where?_

A masterpiece for the ages, without a doubt.

Luckily Pitch doesn't seem to mind; in fact he's a man of few words himself:

_Thursday night. I'll pick you up. Dress smartly._

Jack sends _Awesome_ in response and then stares at his phone.

Okay. Okay, so he has a date. A date with a not-really-prince twice his age. (That Ben forced Jack into and Pitch paid for, but don't think about that, way better not to think about that.)

Obviously the next step is to brag about it.

Jamie's first words are not exactly enlightened.

"He's how old?"

"Thirty-six," Jack says, flopping down on the sofa beside Kal, Jamie's roommate and Jack's other best friend - only other friend, really. He's hoping that Kal's going to be on his side, but the doubtful look in his eyes says differently.

"Jack, he's twice your age."

"Yeah, thanks Kal, I did pass high school math."

Which Kal knows, since they met in junior high. Jack was getting picked on for being so skinny, and Jamie was the first one to stand up for him. Since Jamie is short and skinny himself, it probably wasn't the best decision he's ever made. But then over came Kal, star of the wrestling team at his old school with the muscles to prove it, to defend both of them. It had taken two headlocks and a week of detection but it had ended up with the three of them as best friends and it had been absolutely worth it.

And usually - _usually_ - Kal and Jamie defend him against the world even now. Apart from this time, apparently.

"And he was happy to pay for a date with you? That's kind of creepy."

Jack glares at Kal. "He did it to save me from Marta and Melly."

"I'm one hundred percent certain he knows absolutely nothing about Marta and Melly," Jamie says, pushing him aside so that he can fit on the sofa too. "Face it, Jack: he's just some guy having a midlife crisis who wants a date with a cute twink."

"I am not a twink."

Kal snorts. "You're the dictionary definition, Jack."

"Shut up," Jack says, punching him in the arm. "Anyway, what does it matter? Maybe I want a date with a kind of hot older guy. It's just a date. Stop being jerks."

"You know we love you, Jack," Jamie says. "We're just worried about you."

"I'll be fine," Jack says and grabs the cable remote, starting to flick through the three hundred channels of nothing-on in an attempt to distract them from his love life. "Look, I'll text you if I need rescuing, okay?"

"Not okay," Kal grumbles. "But if you've got your heart set on it-"

"I do."

"-just remember that if you _do _need rescuing we're here for you. Okay?

"I won't-"

"But if you do-"

"If I do I'll text you, okay? Jesus."

Jack rolls his eyes again, but he can't seem to stop from smiling.

It's not until Thursday night that Jack realises that Pitch might, y' know, need his address in order to pick him up. He's about to hit call when his phone buzzes with a text.

_From: __Pitch __  
__We're outside._

And when Jack looks out of the window, there's a huge black car outside the apartment building, ten floors below.

"Huh," he says, and glances at his reflection. The text said dress smartly and so he has. One of the good things about being forced to so many charity dinners is that he has far more suits that the average eighteen year old. The average eighteen year old probably doesn't wear Hugo Boss either, but Jack is glad he can afford it because his ass looks incredible. After how great Pitch looked the night they met, Jack feels like he has to step it up. After all, Pitch _did_ pay a ridiculous amount of money for this date.

Grabbing his jacket he pulls it on and steps out of his room.

"I'm going out," he calls, and of course he gets no answer. Even if Pitch did turn out to be some psycho killer, it'd probably take his dad a week to notice that Jack wasn't around. And even then he wouldn't give a shit. He'd probably be glad about it.

Not the best thoughts to be having before a date, so Jack pushes them away and slots a smile firmly in place, practicing on the door man before heading over to the car.

He pauses at the door, not sure if he should just get in, but the window lowers, revealing Pitch. He looks Jack up and down and then nods approvingly.

"Very nice," he says before shifting over so that Jack can get in.

"Obviously," Jack says, running his hands over the leather seat, and then looks up at Pitch. Another black suit - Pitch seems like the kind of guy who probably lives in black suits. "Not bad yourself."

"Obviously," Pitch says, and the driver pulls out into the slow New York traffic.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I've been on vacation! Back to the usual Friday updates from now on :)


	4. Chapter 4

They pull up at some fancy Thai place that Jack's never been to. It's understated inside and out, but Jack's not paying much attention to interior decorating. His mind is in overdrive, trying to decide on what to say that won't make him sound like a blithering idiot. Luckily his mouth is ignoring his brain, running on small talk with just a hint of flirtatiousness.

The maître d' leads them to seats near the window, looking out over the city. On a clear night it would be a gorgeous view of Manhattan, but tonight the fog is in the way. Not that it matters; Jack's attention is focused solely on Pitch.

As they talk, Jack's brain slows its frantic panic and he starts to actually relax instead of faking it. Even though Pitch is haughty and maybe even arrogant, his sharp humour makes Jack smile and his liquid movements make Jack-

Well, interested. Very interested.

At one point Jack's cuff rides up as he reaches for his glass, and Pitch's eyes zero in on the little sliver of revealed wrist. He reaches over and gently runs a finger over Jack's inner wrist. His brain instantly goes offline and his dick suddenly wants to be the centre of attention.

"A tattoo?" Pitch asks, his finger still stroking across Jack's sensitive skin, back and forth, back and forth.

It takes a few attempts before Jack manages to speak. "Uh huh," he says, and grins in an attempt to hide his lack of higher brain function.

"What is it?"

Jack's grin widens. "Why don't you take me home and find out?"

With a chuckle, Pitch circles Jack's wrist with his thumb and forefinger, holding tight, and Jack's brain gives up completely. It feels - claiming. Possessive. Like a cuff that claims him as Pitch's, and he likes that more than he would ever have thought possible. It's only for a handful of seconds and then Pitch pulls away, sits back and sips his wine.

"Not tonight," he says, and Jack wants to scream at him.

"Oh, come on. You still worried about the whole payment thing? Don't. This is off the books. Something we both want."

"If it's something we both want then it's something we can both wait for," Pitch says.

"I don't know about that," Jack mutters. He tells himself that if there's another date, next time ___he's _going to be the one being a pricktease, though he knows that wouldn't pan out. He wouldn't say no to anything. If Pitch asked him he'd get under the table right now and suck him off.

Jack licks his lips. Now there's an idea.

When the meal's over, Pitch pays, and as they head back to the car Jack tries to think of a way to change Pitch's mind. Stripping might work, he thinks, and he's seriously considering it as they get into the limo. Pitch tells the driver to take Jack home, and Jack's about to argue when Pitch grabs the front of his jacket and pulls him close, kisses him hard. It's unexpected, but Jack will definitely take it. Pitch's kiss is hot and fierce; he's totally in control and Jack finds he wants him to be, and not just because Pitch is a damn good kisser. He just - _responds_ to Pitch, finds himself whimpering and pliant. He doesn't bother trying to think of why that is; he just goes with it, letting Pitch push him down onto the seat and climb on top of him, throwing his leg over Jack's hips so that he's straddling him.

_Oh god_, Jack thinks. Pitch's weight on top of him makes him want - everything - and he presses his hips up, grinding.

"No," Pitch whispers, biting Jack's bottom lip and making him whine. "I'm in control."

_You wish_, Jack thinks.

"Uh huh," Jack says.

Pitch smirks at him before leaning in to bite his lip again. The little flashes of pain make Jack gasp and he wants more. More pain, more pleasure, just -_more_.

Pitch doesn't let him have it. He pushes himself up on his elbow and grins at Jack, but before Jack can catch up with what the hell is happening, his hand are under Jack's shirt, teasing his nipples. Jack wants to swear but his throat seizes up and all he can manage is another strangled moan, all he can feel is how hot Pitch's hands are, how good it feels having his nipples squeezed and teased, and how much he likes Pitch looking down at him like that, all of his concentration on Jack, fierce and sharp and burning hot.

Then they're kissing again, Pitch's nails scraping down Jack's sides, his tongue in his mouth, and Jack's brain is reeling, he's whimpering and he feels like he's melting.

And then Pitch pulls back, sits up, straightens his shirt.

Jack stares up at him.

"You're home," Pitch tells him, and Jack continues to stare.

"But-" It's still hard to think so his gestures at his cock, tenting the fabric of his trousers.

"I know," Pitch says, and his predatory grin makes Jack swallow.

"But-" Jack casts about for something to follow that up with. "Come ___on!_"

The grin widens. "Next time," Pitch says, "I am going to take you up to my room, get you down on your knees and make you suck my cock. Or perhaps I will bend you over the back of my sofa and spank that pretty little arse of yours. Perhaps I'll just get you on all fours and fuck you until you scream. I haven't decided yet."

"Wh- why not now?"

"Partly because you were forced into this-"

"No, I want this, I-"

"And partly because I want to tease you."

"This is more than fucking teasing," Jack growls, pushing himself up into sitting and groaning as his cock rubs against the material of his trousers. "You do - that and then you – you stop-"

"I like to be in control, Jack," Pitch says, his smile sharp as a crescent moon. "I like to remind people of that. What I would really like is for you to go up to your room and not touch yourself. I'd like for you to save that for me. Do you think you can do that?"

Jack blinks. For Pitch to tell him when he can come - give him permission - that's a _very_ nice idea. But Jack knows that there's not way he'll be able to do it. If Pitch isn't going to make him come then he's going to do it himself or he's going to explode.

"No." Jack glances out of the window and realises that they're stopped outside his building and wonders when that happened.

"A shame. But perhaps we can work on that later. I could leave you tied up. Tease you. Get you hard but not let you come. Keep you there like a good boy - maybe if you beg hard enough, I'll bring you off."

"I'll beg right now."

"No," Pitch says, and reaches across Jack to open the door. "I'll text you tomorrow. And do _try_ to control yourself. Try to be a good boy."

He steals one last kiss and then pulls back, smirking. Deciding that Pitch is in fact a stubborn asshole and isn't going to give Jack what he wants, he glares at him and pushes himself out of the car. He walks past the doorman, trying ineffectually to hide his hard-on with his jacket, and goes up to his room.

For a moment he thinks about what Pitch said, about waiting, but there's no way in hell that's going to happen. He doesn't even bother stripping. Instead he throws himself onto the bed and pulls his cock out. It's already slick, smothered in pre-come, and he strokes himself, thinking of Pitch pressing him down like that, of his fingers encircling his wrists-

He yelps in surprise as he comes, spurting over his shirt. His whole body tenses up and his thighs shake, and he feels like the breath's been punched out of him. He gasps, shaking, still stroking his cock, milking every last drop from it. That was - intense. Really fucking intense. Jack stares down at his shirt, covered in come, and gives an exhausted grin.

"Holy shit," he says. That was one of the best orgasms he's ever had. It was - It was incredible. He fishes around for more words to describe it and gives up. His brain is officially not working. He considers going to get a shower, but the instant he closes his eyes, he's out for the count.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack spends most of the next morning agonising over when - and whether - to text Pitch. Is it too early? Should he leave it a few days? Normally Jack's relationships are pretty easygoing, but nothing about Pitch suggests 'relaxed' to him. It makes him worried about doing something wrong, moving too soon and scaring him off. Can he even scare him off, or was he only interested in a one-night stand in the first place?

If he only wanted a damn one night stand he could at least have fucked me, Jack thinks and then sighs. Maybe he should go out. Get coffee, or go wander around Central Park.

Or maybe he should text Pitch.

Grumbling at himself and his stupid circular thoughts, he picks up his phone, starts a message and then puts his phone down again.

"You're pathetic," he tells himself, and pushes himself up from his bed, grabs a hoodie and heads out.

He starts wandering the streets with no real direction in mind. Last night was good. Really good. But Pitch is- Jack's brain comes up against a roadblock. What is Pitch? Controlled. Aloof. Intense.

He's a fucking pricktease is what he is.

That last thing - the bit about asking Jack to hold on, to not make himself come until Pitch gave him permission…

Jesus, that was hot. Just thinking about the way that Pitch looked at him while giving that command is enough to get his cock interested. Could he wait? If that's something Pitch is really into - could Jack wait, do what Pitch asked? Do ___anything _Pitch asked? Licking his lips, Jack shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket. His rapidly hardening cock answers that question; or at least, he'd sure as hell give it a try. He's done some kinky stuff. One boyfriend liked to tie him up. Not boyfriend really. A guy he slept with occasionally. But he didn't have that same intensity as Pitch, wasn't so in control and utterly confident, and that's what Jack found so damn hot.

His phone buzzes, jerking him out of his thoughts. A text, from Pitch.

___If you're free this afternoon I want to see you._

Well that's to the point. Jack reads it and rereads it, trying to see if there's anything between the lines that he should be reading, but there's not really anything else ___to_read.

___Sure, I'm free whenever. Where do you want to meet?_

Almost immediately, an answer:

___Mason's coffee near the Museum of Natural History. 3pm._

It's 2:15 now, and Jack's within walking distance. A coffee shop though - bit of a difference from last night.

_Sure, see you there_, Jack sends, and then chews his lip. On the one hand, Pitch wants to see him again. And he responded so quickly, that's got to mean something, right? On the other, it's not exactly a romantic date. Those texts weren't romantic either, or hot, or even teasing. They're just-

___You're overthinking things__,_Jack tells himself, and that always gets him in trouble. Fishing his earbuds out of his pocket, he puts on a podcast to try and distract himself.

When he gets to Mason's he breathes in deeply, lets it out slowly.

___You've only had one date with this guy__._ The fact that he paid for it kind of makes things weird though. Fuck Ben and his ridiculous fundraiser. If it wasn't for him, Jack wouldn't be nearly as nervous out by all of this.

_Yes, you would_, he thinks. He's nervous because Pitch does strange things to him, makes him feel all pliant and submissive, and like he wants to do any thing he asks. Besides, if it wasn't for that fundraiser he probably would never have met Pitch in the first place.

Stepping inside he glances around. No Pitch yet. It's exactly the kind of place he'd imagine Pitch going to, though. Tidy, straight lines, Escher on the walls. Strictly monochrome, effortlessly elegant and chic. The menu is straightforward: coffee or tea. Those are literally the only choices. No frothy milk or syrups and definitely no frozen semi-milkshake monstrosities. On the counter there's a minimalist menu describing the three kinds of roasts and the five blends of tea, and Jack frowns as he looks at it, having little idea what any of them are talking about. It's wine-bottle-label nonsense, so he orders a medium roast and dumps cream in it before going to a table in the corner.

While he's waiting, he glances around the room at the other people. There's a few older guys sat together, both of them staring at their phones. There's a red-haired woman staring out of the window, and Jack wonders who she's looking for. Is she waiting for someone or just people watching? Concentrating on these other people gives him a chance to stop worrying about himself, so he invents back stories for them.

She's just moved to the city, he decides. She doesn't really know anyone yet, but she's okay with that. She wants to see where she fits into New York first, see how she likes the taste and the tune of it before she really builds a life here.

The guys are old friends. Went to school together, meet up only a few times a year but whenever they do they fit back into their easy friendship without even the slightest bit of effort from either of them. One looks up from his phone and smiles at the other - they start a quiet conversation and Jack feels bad for trying to listen in.

But then the door opens and all thoughts of anyone else are dashed from Jack's mind.

It's Pitch, wearing a military-style black coat with gold buttons, tight black jeans and scuffed Docs. His hair is tousled and windswept and come on, seriously, how is Jack supposed to deal with this?

He spies Jack and comes over, resting a long-fingered hand on the back of the chair opposite. Jack stares at his nails for a moment, not quite able to meet his eyes just yet, and notices that he needs a manicure.

"Hope you weren't waiting long," Pitch says, and Jack forces himself to look up. He's less intense in the daytime, Jack thinks vaguely and offers Pitch a smile.

"Not at all."

Once he's gotten himself a drink, Pitch sits opposite Jack and gazes at him for a long moment. Jack wonders what he's looking for and shifts a little in his chair.

"Before we go any further, we need to talk," Pitch starts. "About what I want from you."

"You made that pretty clear last night."

Pitch holds his gaze for a long moment and then cocks his head slightly. "Yes. A little too clear. It was - inappropriate."

"I don't know about that. For the record, though, I didn't wait. And I'm glad I didn't because it was fantastic," Jack says with another grin and Pitch breathes in sharply.

"I'm sure it was. But - about what I said-" Pitch stops himself and wraps both hands around his coffee cup, looking over at Jack with a serious expression. "No. Before that I want to talk about Benard."

"Really? Seriously? Because I can think of a whole bunch of more interesting things to talk about."

"As can I, but this is important. When we met on the balcony, I wanted you." The forthrightness takes Jack by surprise, and he blinks. "However, I wouldn't have acted on that without Benard's little auction."

"Why?"

"Because of how young you are. I don't make a habit of dating boys half my age."

"Maybe you should make a habit of dating one in particular," Jack suggests and points at himself. It coaxes a smile from Pitch, and he takes a sip of his coffee to hide it.

"I bought that date at the auction because I could see how uncomfortable you were. I thought that we had a connection on the balcony and that perhaps you wouldn't mind a date with me."

"I definitely didn't mind it. There was chemistry, fireworks, the whole thing."

"I just wanted to be clear, to draw a line in the sand. Whatever happens from here on in has nothing to do with that. No monetary dealings beyond perhaps paying for dinner. Strictly personal from now on."

"Sounds good," Jack says, draining the last of his coffee and leaning forward. This talking is making him nervous; he's always afraid he'll say something wrong, like he always seems to. "So - back to your place?"

Another smile from Pitch. It's like a game - how many times can Jack get Pitch to smile against his will? "Not quite. The other thing that I wanted to talk about are my proclivities."

Jack blinks. "Your what?"

"When it comes to sex, I am not what you might call vanilla."

"Yeah, I got that," Jack says, thinking back to the night before. "You're kinky."

Pitch's eyebrow hitches. "Indeed I am." He taps his coffee cup. "Are you?"

"Uh. I - haven't had a huge amount of experience. I mean – I kinda like being tied up-" Jack stops there because Jesus Christ, Pitch's eyes just flared like a supernova. He reaches across the table to circle Jack's wrist with thumb and forefinger, just as he did last night, and suddenly Jack's mouth is dry. "And I, uh. Blindfolds. I like it a bit rough." Oh god, the way Pitch is looking at him, how is he supposed to deal with that? They're not even in a bar where they might have the excuse of being drunk, but if Pitch leapt over the table and pinned Jack to the floor - which it looks like he wants to - Jack would have absolutely no problem with that. He doesn't even think he'd mind the audience.

"Do you," Pitch says, his voice smooth and deep, ever-so-slightly different than his normal voice.

"Uh. Yeah. Like I said. Not much experience. But - I'd like more. And you'd like to give it to me, right?"

"Right," Pitch says, his thumb moving in tiny circles over the inside of Jack's wrist. It makes his breath hitch - such a tiny thing, but damn if it doesn't feel good. And if ___that _feels good.

"So - you're going to give it to me, right?"

Pitch stares at him for another long moment and then he sits back, folding his arms. Jack has to bite down on a disappointed groan when Pitch is no longer touching him.

"Yes," he says. "I am."

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for the favs, follows and comments! You guys are amazing. I'm so happy you're enjoying this! Sorry this is a few days late, I'll try and get back onto the Friday update schedule next week.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack's surprised when Pitch doesn't lead him to a car. Pitch seems like a ___get driven everywhere _kind of guy, and Jack wouldn't have minded another back seat make-out session in the slightest. Instead Pitch leads him past the museum and out onto Central Park West. The trees are skeletal and tourists are like zombies with cameras, shuffling around dead-eyed and jet-lagged.

"So, where is your place?" Jack asks after a few blocks, and Pitch gestures.

"Right here."

Jack stares up, wide-eyed at the elegant, nine-storey building that bristles with fancy architectural features that rightly belong on fancy European castles rather than a New York City apartment building.

"The Dakota," Jack says. "No fucking way you live at the Dakota."

"You don't strike me as a Lennon fanboy."

"Not really. But – man, it's the ___Dakota__. _When I was a kid I used to dream of sneaking in here – I used to think it looked like a haunted castle or something. But not even Ben and my dad know anyone who lives here."

"Well, now you do," Pitch says, pausing to look at Jack for a long moment before leading him inside. Jack gawks as they go through the courtyard. Up on the fifth floor, Jack stares around at the hallways: venerable dark wood and the tiled floors. It's as elegant as Jack's building is gauche - the real thing rather than an imitation of elegance. As they pass doors to the other apartments, Jack wonders who's behind them, wonders if Pitch has any celebrity neighbours.

But then they stop and Pitch takes a set of keys from his pocket. Suddenly Jack remembers why he's here and feels suddenly shy. Slapping a cocky grin into place to hide it, Jack follows Pitch into the apartment.

Inside it's monochrome and modern, clean lines and straight edges. The only break in the black-and-grey colour way are occasional splashes of gold - a light fitting, a few photo frames. There's a pink plush unicorn on one of the armchairs and Jack is thrown for a moment until he remembers Pitch has a young daughter. The thought makes him slightly uncomfortable - the reminder of their age difference, of what he's getting into. But then he looks at Pitch's long legs that look fan_tas_tic in those jeans, and the discomfort melts away.

Slipping off his coat, Pitch puts it in the hall closet, and gestures for Jack to do the same. When Jack's hoodie is off, Pitch stares at Jack's arms – or rather, at his tattoos. Grey and blue frost markings, the kind that cover windows in a New York winter, cover both arms, shoulder to wrist. He got them partly for the prettiness, partly because of his name, but mostly to piss his dad off. It worked, too.

Pitch reaches for Jack's left arm, his fingers lightly tracing the swirls of frost inked into Jack's skin.

"It's beautiful," he murmurs, and with him looking at Jack with wonder and delight in his eyes, he ___feels _beautiful. Not just the ___not bad _he normally assigns himself, but genuinely beautiful. Important. Turning Jack's hand, Pitch kisses his wrist, right where the pale blue ink fades away. Jack makes a strangled noise, and Pitch smirks at him.

His hand still around Jack's wrist, he pulls him into the living room, pushes him down onto the black leather sofa.

"Now," Pitch says, taking a seat by Jack's side. "Tell me what you want."

"What?"

"I prefer to be in control in the bedroom. But I also like to give my partners what they want. Everything they want."

"Well, that's good," Jack croaks, and clears his throat. He flashes a smile. "Because I want everything."

"Then where shall we start?"

Jack thinks, trying to imagine what someone with Pitch's ___proclivities _might want. To tie him up? Maybe a little roleplay, or spanking, or-

"Tell me what you want," Pitch says him softly, and leans in. "Would you like me to jerk you off? To blow you?" When he reaches a hand over to squeeze Jack's cock, Jack tries to yelp and moan at the same time. Both of those sound good, really good, but-

"You said you liked kinky stuff-"

"And I do, but something a little more vanilla is usually best for the first time. So tell me, Jack: what can I do for you?"

Jack stares up at Pitch, the slightly crooked smile and utter confidence in his face turning Jack on to a ridiculous degree. Licking his lips, he manages to whisper, "Blow me."


	7. Chapter 7

Pitch's smirk might be infuriating if Jack wasn't so turned on. His fingers linger on Jack's cock for another moment before they pull away. Jack's tempted to grab his hand and put it back where it belongs, but then Pitch slides to the floor, pushing Jack's thighs apart and nestling between them. Jack's thoughts become one long ___eeeeeeeee _of white noise.

"Now then," Pitch purrs, looking up at Jack. "I'm sure you're going to be just ___delicious_."

"Uh huh."

Another smirk. "Oh, do you speak from experience? Have you tasted yourself, Jack?"

"Uh huh-" he licks his lips. "Y-yeah. Once or twice."

"I might make you taste yourself now," Pitch muses. "Would you like that?"

"I'd like ___anything_. But please, c'mon. I- I'm so hard."

"I can tell." Pitch runs a hand over Jack's cock. The touch sends urgent spikes of pleasure hurtling through Jack and he clenches his jaw.

Oh god, he doesn't want to come as quickly as last night. What will Pitch think of him? Then again, if Pitch is going to be the one in top - and Jack's almost certain that he is -then it doesn't really matter if Jack comes early or not. Pitch can still fuck him, use him even he's already come. Jesus but that's hot - the thought of Pitch fucking him while he's soft, having already come – making him hard again, making him come again.

"Oh god," Jack whispers, and then claps a hand over his mouth when he realises he said that out loud.

Reaching up, Pitch pulls the hand away. "Now, Jack. I want to hear you. Even if I don't understand quite why you made such a lovely sound. Tell me."

Jack pauses a moment too long, and Pitch squeezes his cock again.

"___Tell _me."

The pressure on his cock and that demanding tone in Pitch's voice make Jack dizzy - when the hell did being bossed about become a turn on?

"I was thinking how I want you to make me come - with your hand or your mouth or whatever. And then I want you to fuck me while I'm still soft. So - like, it's all about you. I'm only here for your pleasure. Um. And then I want to come again just from having you inside me."

The look Pitch gives him then could melt rocks, it's so hot.

"Well, gentleman that I am, I'm going to give you what you want."

Jack lets out a slow, shaky breath as Pitch undresses him: Chucks and socks first, then he unzips his jeans. Always obliging, Jack lifts his hips up off the couch so Pitch can slide the jeans off along with his boxers. Jack whips his own t-shirt off and then Pitch gazes at him, fully naked, for a long time. Such scrutiny might make Jack feel nervous if it wasn't for the almost worshipful look in Pitch's eyes.

Finally he decides to do more than just look.

Pitch curls his hand around Jack's cock, and Jack looks down to see those long, tan fingers around him. His hand's big enough that only the head of Jack's cock is visible above his fingers and damn it looks good.

It looks even better when they move with firm, even strokes. Apparently Pitch is a hand-job master, and Jack's hands curl into fists, nails digging into his palms, hoping the pain will distract him from how fucking ___good _it feels.

"That's right, Jack," Pitch purrs. "You keep your hands right there on the cushions. I'm going to suck you now and you are ___not _to move your hands. Got that?"

"Yessir," Jack gasps, and Pitch's eyes widen slightly. He gives a crooked grin that's almost creepy but it isn't, it's _hot_, so damn hot, and Jack doesn't even know what his thoughts are doing anymore.

Pitch leans in and laps at the head of Jack's cock, holding eye contact as he slides his tongue across Jack's slit.

"Shit, fuck," Jack gasps, and Pitch continues just as slowly, licking a stripe up the underside, leaving a trail of wet kisses up the length and basically doing everything possible to drive Jack crazy. At one point he closes his eyes, thinking it might be a little easier if he can't see it happening - block out at least one source of ridiculous hotness - but Pitch orders him to open them again.

He does it immediately.

Pitch rewards his obedience by wrapping his lips around the head of Jack's cock, sliding them lower, bobbing his head and taking an inch deeper at a time. Jack begins to curse as the pleasure builds inside him like a knot being pulled tighter and tighter. The slick sounds of Pitch's mouth on him make him whimper, the heat of him, oh god, oh god please-

He's trying to hold on, he's trying so hard. He bites down on his bottom lip until he tastes copper, feels a tear track down his cheek.

"Oh god I'm gonna come, please-"

Pitch has Jack's whole length in his mouth and then squeezes his balls and _oh fuck_-

Jack yells out as he comes, Pitch getting the first bit in his mouth and them stroking Jack through it.

Jack shakes as the orgasm washes over him, is ripped from him and then keeps going, until he's shaking and spent and empty.

"Oh god oh god," Jack whispers and he's sobbing a little too, Jesus fuck what was that, what is this? He can't seem to slow his breathing, or stop shaking.

"That was good, Jack, you were good," Pitch murmurs, sliding onto the couch beside him, kissing his forehead and pulling him close.

"Oh fuck," Jack says, his voice shaking as badly as he is. He's panicking a little – he's never reacted like this before, never, and tears are still streaming down his cheeks and he can't stop them. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I- I don't know what's wrong with me-"

"It's alright, Jack," Pitch says, wiping his hands on his jeans and pulling Jack into a hug. "It's alright; you're just feeling sensitive, that's all. But you were good, very good indeed."

He continues to hold Jack until he stops shaking, until whatever the hell that was eases off, leaving him feeling both exhausted and incredibly embarrassed.

He pulls away and wipes at his eyes. He daren't look at pitch, he doesn't want to know what he thinks of him.

"Do you want some water?" Pitch asks. "A blanket?"

"A- a blanket. Yeah. Please."

It's not that Jack's cold, it's the comfort of it, and maybe being covered up will make him feel a little less vulnerable. When Pitch stands Jack kind of wants to pull him back, not wanting to be left alone. But he stays his hand, watching intently as Pitch goes to the closet, comes back with a blanket and a towel. Wrapping the blanket over Jack's shoulders, Pitch carefully cleans him up, pressing kisses to his temple and cheek.

"There we are. How are you feeling?"

"I- I don't know." Jack wipes the last of the tears from his cheeks. "Kind of- exhausted, actually. I don't really- Fuck, what ___was _that?"

"A little bit of subdrop, I think."

"What drop?"

"Subdrop. It can be an emotional response after a kink session. When you're feeling so ___good _and then it stops, sometimes you just - crash. Crying, shaking. It's all completely normal."

Jack licks his lips. If he's going to feel like this after every single time then he's not sure he can keep doing this, no matter how good it felt. But then, he's done kinky stuff before and never had that reaction. And besides- "We weren't even doing anything weird."

"True. Sometimes it just happens and you don't know why. You don't even have to be doing anything kinky, anything submissive. Honestly, Jack, it's completely normal."

"But- if I can't handle even a fucking blowjob without feeling like that- I don't know. I've explored a bit of stuff before and I- I want to do other stuff with you. But shit, I don't want to feel like that again."

"We'll talk. Take it slow. Only do what you want. Stop the instant you say so." Pitch pauses. Jack can see how tight his jaw is, as though he really doesn't want to let these next words escape through his teeth. "If you want to stop right here - you can go and we never have to see each other again."

"No!" Jack reaches out to grab Pitch's hand. "No, I don't want that. Not at all. I just - I… I'm a bit scared. It was intense, you know? And I didn't want to disappoint you."

"Oh Jack," Pitch says, and shakes his head. "Let me assure you, you don't need to worry about that. Instead of worrying about whether you're doing things right, or whether I like it – let me be in control. All you have to do is relax and let me take care of you."

Jack looks at him for a long moment, and then leans against him, throwing the blanket over both of them so that they can cuddle properly.

"You - you're really okay with me freaking out? What if I freak out again?"

"Then we'll do ___this _again, until you feel safe, until you feel comfortable."

They sit there on the sofa for a while, and Jack finds that he feels safe in Pitch's arms. Maybe he shouldn't – he barely knows the man – but he makes Jack feel _wanted, _and that means a hell of a lot_._

He's comfortable, maybe a little too comfortable, because the next thing he knows he's waking up.

He's lying down on the couch, his head in Pitch's lap, and when he shifts, Pitch moves his book aside so that he can smile down at Jack.

"Feeling better?"

"Uh – yeah." Jack's cheeks burn as he sits up, pulling the blanket around him to keep himself covered up and trying not to think of all the ways he's managed to make a fool of himself today. "I'm sorry about earlier-"

"I told you – there's no need to apologise," Pitch says, smiling at him fondly and running his fingers through Jack's hair. "Everything's fine."

"What time is it?"

"7pm. I was considering ordering Chinese if you'd like to join me?"

Jack looks at him. After all the drama he's managed to stir up, Pitch not only isn't kicking him out, he's asking him to stay for dinner. He allows a small, wary smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for your comments, favs and follows! It makes me so happy :3 Just to address a few comments that people have made: all of the chapters are going to be short - around 1000 words. I'm writing this like a comment fic - it's the only way that I can keep to a weekly schedule with all of my other commitments both in writing and in irl. So the chapters are going to stay short - but they're going to be frequent, too!


	8. Chapter 8

They sit with plates of egg rolls and sweet and sour chicken and watch Adventure Time - Jack's choice.

Pitch has loaned Jack a pair of pyjamas, a t-shirt and too-long trousers with the drawstring pulled tight. Although he still feels wrung out and jittery, it makes him feel better. Better even than his own clothes would. It comforts him, in a weird way. Like being looked after.

It's dark by the time Pitch clears the plates away, and then turns off the TV. He turns to face Jack, with a serious expression that makes anxiety patter inside him like rain.

"We need to talk," Pitch says, and Jack licks his lips.

"Uh. Look, I'm sorry, okay? I know - you probably don't need all this bullshit from someone you thought was just going to be a quick fuck, or-"

"Jack," Pitch says and takes Jack's hands. "Stop that. Stop assuming that I'm annoyed, or that I'm going to reject you. Listen to me."

Jack looks up then. Because that's not a command, which would piss him off. It's softer than that – more of a plea. Part of him still wants to run away - he doesn't want to feel like that again - but more of him wants to stay. To listen - and maybe understand.

"I should've talked to you before, instead of being - consumed - with how much I wanted you. But you're so young-"

"I'm not a kid."

"No, you're not. But you ___are _young. And that was a mistake. You have no experience in this, and I should be ___looking after_you."

"It was just a blow job, Pitch. You don't need to give a lecture in how to deal with a blowjob, because normal people don't freak out about stuff like that." Jack drags a hand through his hair. He can feel his hands shaking and he pulls them away from Pitch to pluck at the seam on his pyjama bottoms, hoping he didn't notice.

"Don't think of it as freaking out. It's not. You were just feeling sensitive - and god knows you had reason. Benard just tried to sell you. Not just a date but- God knows why your father didn't speak up."

Jack huffs a humourless laugh. "Yeah, my father doesn't give a shit what happens to me. It was probably his idea."

Pitch stares at him. "But you're his ___son_."

"The son he never wanted. The son who killed his wife. Jesus, most of the time I don't even blame him for hating me."

"Jack - what are you talking about?"

Jack finds a loose thread in the trousers and tugs at it. "Mom wanted to keep me, Dad didn't - said they had enough kids. And she – died- giving birth-" Jack's heart is pounding in his chest and he realises that this is a really shitty thing to talk about. Just in general but especially to someone who's potential boyfriend material (although he can't ever see himself calling Pitch something as – sweet – as _boyfriend_). He wipes at his eyes, feeling heavy and sad.

Maybe he just shouldn't have come here. This thing with Pitch had promise, but nothing in Jack's life ever works out well. It's just best not to hope, not to put himself out there where he's only going to end up hurt with his heart ripped in two.

"God, Jack-"

"You know, I think I should go," Jack says, his voice wavering as he tries not to cry. He forces a smile into place. "Not to say that it hasn't been fun. I always enjoy making an idiot of myself in front of hot strangers." He picks up his clothes from the floor, considers putting them back on, decides it'll take too long. He needs to get _out_ of here. "I'll get someone to return your clothes-"

"Jack, wait, please. Just a few minutes."

Half of him wants to run and never look back, the other half sees a glimmer of hope in Pitch, and that scares him almost as much.

He sits back down, holding tightly onto his clothes, ready to bolt.

"I've scared you," Pitch says quietly. Jack shakes his head. "I have. Tell me what I've done wrong, please."

"It's nothing. It's not you. I'm just - I'm a mess. I've always been a mess."

"What your father says about your mother - you know that's not true, don't you?"

Jack gives an angry shrug. "She's dead because of me. My father, my brothers and sister - they lost her because of me."

"Jack-"

"You don't know anything about me. I don't need your false comfort, or-"

"It's not false, Jack. I want to help. And you're right. I don't know anything about you. But I want to."

"Nobody ever wants to know me. They want to - to fuck me. Or to be seen with me. But they don't want to ___know _me."

"I do," Pitch says, and it's the simplicity with which he says it that makes Jack think that it might just be true. "I want to know you. I want to ___protect _you. I know that I have a – less than sparkling reputation, but when it comes to the people I care about, I am ___fiercely_protective. And no, I don't know you. But I do care for you. Let me look after you, Jack."

Pitch's reaction is so completely unexpected that Jack doesn't know what to think. He wipes at his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted again. He rarely talks about his mother, his family. This is why. It makes him feel worthless, and exhausted, it makes his heart ache and his throat tighten until he can hardly breathe and doesn't know if he deserves to. And now there's Pitch's reaction, weighing against it.

Biting his lip, Jack shuffles closer on the sofa until he's pressed against Pitch. He curls up against him, wrapping his arms around his neck. He's always found comfort in touch, in hugs from Jamie and Kal, and if Pitch really wants to comfort him, he'll give him this.

It works.

Such a simple thing, but it works every time, as long as he trusts the person he's with. He moves onto Pitch's lap, rests his head against his neck. One of Pitch's hands rests on Jack's hip, the other on the back of his neck, stroking gently. Slowly Jack's anxieties drop away, one by one, with each gentle stroke of Pitch's fingers. He feels safe. Wanted. Calm, in a way he's rarely found.

Pitch just continues to hold him, knowing what Jack needs. He moves only to kiss the top of Jack's head.

Time passes strangely; Jack's not sure if it's been hours or only minutes, when he realises he's sleepy again.

"M tired," Jack breathes, and Pitch nods.

"Would you like to stay here?"

"Mmhmm."

Jack's already half asleep when Pitch eases him into a princess carry and takes him to a bedroom. The bed is large and comfortable, and when pitch closes the thick curtains it's pleasantly dark, the only light from the hallway outside. Jack crawls under the sheets and sighs, feeling comfortable in a way that goes far beyond a nice mattress.

"Sleep," Pitch murmurs and kisses him gently, and Jack is gone before he even closes the door.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all your comments, favs and follows! Never underestimate how much that means to a writer - you keep me posting.


	9. Chapter 9

Jack wakes to a knock at the door and the smell of coffee.

Opening his eyes, he's confused for a moment – he has no idea where he is. Wood panelling, lots of books. Black bedsheets, ___really _comfortable bed.

"Jack? Are you awake?"

Pitch. Pitch's place. All the memories of Jack's epic overreaction from the night before flood into his mind, and part of him wants to run away from the embarrassment. But another part of him, the part of him that's drawn to Pitch, wants to stay. Wants to explore.

"Yeah. I'm awake."

"Can I come in?"

"'Course you can."

Pitch opens the door, peering in, silhouetted against the bright light outside. He flicks on the light and comes over to Jack, perching on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

Jack takes stock. Headache. Tired, still. "Like I'm hungover."

Pitch's lips thin and he takes Jack's hand. "I wish you could stay so that we could talk, but my daughter is coming to stay for a few days."

"It's okay," Jack says instantly, even as his heart sinks, and he scowls at himself. Obviously Pitch's daughter is more important to him than Jack – she's probably the most important person in Pitch's whole world, and so she should be. That's how ___normal_families work.

"It's not," Pitch says with a sigh. "Come on. We can talk over breakfast."

After pulling on yesterday's clothes, Jack goes into the kitchen. Big and airy, large windows provide plenty of sunlight. There's a table at the side of the kitchen, where a coffee and a croissant await Jack. He tucks in, suddenly starving. Melancholy still makes his heart feel leaden, but he ignores it. It can wait until he's on his own. The last thing he wants is to have another breakdown in front of Pitch.

To distract himself, Jack watches Pitch cook. He's so elegant and at ease that it's almost a dance. Elegance Jack can do, but ease? Not in his skillset. Neither is cooking for that matter.

Not so for Pitch. In minutes, they're both sat with perfect, fluffy omlette set before them, stuffed full of cheese and finely cut mushrooms. They eat in silence, although it's not as uncomfortable as Jack feared. Both of them have things that they want to say, and there's a vast range of things that they need to talk about if they're going to continue this. But where should they start?

"What will you do with your day?" Pitch asks, and Jack tries not to wince at the small talk.

"I dunno. I'll probably hang out with a couple of friends."

"Good. You shouldn't be alone. I would have preferred that you stay here so that I can look after you, but-"

"I'm not a fragile flower, Pitch."

Pitch gives him a thin smile; Jack's not sure Pitch believes him, but then why should he? Jack doesn't believe himself.

When Pitch moves to clear the plates away, Jack insists on doing it. He might as well do ___something _useful while he's here. And yeah, it might only be putting them in the dishwasher, but it's the thought that counts.

"I have something for you," Pitch says, and picks up a small pile of books from the counter. Jack glances at the spines: ___SM 101; Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns__. _There are page-markers stuck liberally throughout. In between them is a folded sheet of paper with a number of websites written neatly in black ink. The unexpectedness of it makes Jack chuckle, and the laughter takes away the edge off of his tension.

"Homework?"

"Just a little. I thought it might help you to understand the way you reacted last night."

"I've given up on trying to understand I react the way I do," Jack says with a shrug. "It's usually pretty dumb."

"No, Jack," Pitch says, and kisses Jack gently. "It's not. Read them. I'll be busy with Seraphina over the next few days, but I'll be checking my phone in the evening. If you have any urgent questions, or if you need to talk, call me."

"It's okay. I'm used to figuring things out on my own." That sounds a lot more passive aggressive than Jack means for it to, and Pitch's expression grows pained.

"You don't have to work through things on your own anymore, Jack. I'm here for you - I mean it."

"Yeah, but ___why?_You don't even know me – we met like a week ago. Why do you care?"

"Because I saw how you were treated and I want to protect you from that. That's – that's the reason that I respond to this," Pitch says, tapping the books. "I want someone to protect. You need someone to protect you. You see how we might be good for each other?"

"Maybe," Jack says softly. Precious few people are good for him, but maybe, just maybe, Pitch might be one of them.

Pitch walks Jack to the subway, and they stand at the top of the stairs, looking at each other. Jack knows Pitch is looking for some sign that Jack's about to lose it – again – so he pops a smile into place. He's surprised by how easy it is; almost like he doesn't even have to force it. Like with the laugh, it chips away a little more of his tension.

"Well," he says, tucking the books under his arm. "I guess this is goodbye. Or should that be ___au revoir?_"

"How about we make a plan instead," Pitch says. "Lunch on Tuesday?"

Jack bites his lip as he thinks through his mostly-empty calendar. "Sure. I think I can fit you in."

A sweet but brief kiss goodbye both startles and pleases Jack. That Pitch is willing to pay attention to him like that in public – maybe he means what he says, that he really does want to look after Jack.

There's a skip in Jack's step as he heads down to the platform. Maybe something in his life is finally going right.


	10. Chapter 10

Still feeling lighthearted, Jack goes straight to Kal and Jamie's. Neither of them are home when he arrives, but it doesn't matter. The first thing they did when they moved in was give him a key, so he lets himself in and claims the sofa. He crawls under a blanket to watch Disney movies for the rest of the day, something sweet and easy that isn't going to spoil his mood.

Next thing he knows, Jamie's moving him gently, trying not to wake him and failing.

"You're lying on the remote," Jamie murmurs when he blinks sleepily up at him. Jack doesn't bother answering, just wraps his arms around Jamie's waist and clings like a limpet. His impromptu nap smothered him with melancholy, and now his thoughts are jangling with doubt. Did Pitch really want him? Is he angry with him? Does he really want to see him again?

Since there's not much else he can do, Jamie rests a hand on Jack's head, playing with his hair. Jack sighs and snuggles closer, breathing in the fresh-laundry scent of his friend. "You wanna talk about it?"

If Jack knew why his mood suddenly plummeted, maybe there'd be something to talk about, but he's never been great at understanding his emotions, even worse at talking about them. He shakes his head and pulls the remote from his nest of blankets and starts Treasure Planet again.

Jamie knows him too well to ask any more questions. Instead he sits and lets Jack drape himself over him in an attempt to gain comfort by osmosis. They watch the movie and all the while Jamie refrains from asking questions. Jack is impressed. He didn't think he had that much patience.

Eventually though, that patience wears thin.

"So. I come home and you're here, clearly bummed out. I assume the date didn't go well?"

Jack stares at a bare patch of wall for long moments. "No. It went well. I'm not bummed out. I'm just… I reacted weirdly, and I don't know why, or what to do about it."

Another patient pause from Jamie that breaks after half a minute. "Weirdly how?"

"Well – he was giving me a blow job-"

"Geez, Jack, tmi-"

"And I just freaked out. Like – it was good. It was really good. And then I'm just ___panicking _and-" Suddenly anxiety sinks little biting teeth in him and he breaks off. He breathes deep, trying to quash it. Jamie's used to this and he strokes Jack's back with one hand, squeezes Jack's hand with the other. The warm touch slowly quiets the anxiety, and Jack looks down at their joined hands, focusing on the tattered, months-old friendship bracelet on Jamie's wrist, the matching one on his own. "I panicked," Jack says, feeling detached from it all. "But Pitch helped me. He didn't even think I was weird for it. He didn't judge me. He understood"

"That's good. And he didn't do anything to make you panic?"

"No. You know me, Jamie. I don't need a reason."

Jamie sighs and strokes Jack's hair. "Jack…" He trails off, and when Jack looks up at him, a pensive frown is creasing his brow. Jack reaches up to smooth it, and Jamie looks down at him with half a smile. "Sometimes I wish it had worked out between us. So that I could have looked after you."

"You don't need to be sleeping with me to look after me, Jamie. You do it all the time."

Jamie's phone starts to ring. Jack glances at it and sees *Mom* flashing up on the screen. He lets it ring, and Jack gestures at it.

"You best answer it."

"She'll just be checking that I'm getting ready. It's Gramma's birthday, she always likes to see me in a suit."

"She's not the only one," Jack says lightly, but there's not much humour in it. He'd forgotten that Jamie had plans. Forgotten too that Kal is out of town, visiting his folks. He doesn't really want to be alone, and there isn't anyone else he can turn to.

The phone stops ringing, and Jack sits up, swallowing a sigh. He glances around to see where he kicked off his Chucks, sees his hoodie pooled under the coffee table. As he reaches for it, Jamie puts his hand on Jack's knee.

"You don't have to go. I can cancel. Or maybe you can come."

"Don't make me sound like even more of a trainwreck than I am," Jack says with a grin, getting to his feet and stretching to work the kinks of his spine. "Go. Tell everyone I said hi, and tell your gramma happy birthday."

"Jack," Jamie says, but that's as far as he gets. He stands and looks very seriously at Jack. "If you need me, call me. I'll leave straight away. Any time. I'm worried about you."

"There's no need to worry. No more than usual, anyway."

Jamie sighs and hugs Jack tightly. "That's not much comfort."

* * *

When Jack gets back to his dad's place, it's empty and freezing cold. He sees his breath when he sighs, and wonders if his dad even checked if Jack was home before turning the heat off.

Switching it on is the first thing he does, followed by throwing a pizza in the oven and opening a bottle of wine, because there is no finer way to spend an evening alone than getting drunk and overloading on carbs. He pours the wine into a beer glass and then goes to his room to look at the books Pitch gave him. He flicks to the index and reads the bit about rope bondage. As he reads he feels a deep urge rising in him, spilling over like a boiling pot. He wants to feel rope against his skin, binding him, keeping in place all those parts of him that want to fly off in a hundred directions. More importantly, he wants Pitch to put those ropes on him. He wants Pitch to show him that he doesn't need to worry; that Pitch will look after him. That Pitch is in control. He wants to hear Pitch tell him what a good boy he is, wants to feel wanted and safe and like he belongs somewhere for once in his life.

Melancholy and longing are a tug-of-war in Jack's chest as he looks down at the book, the letters a blur of black and white. Is he putting too much faith in Pitch? Is he reading too much into the way Pitch treated him?

The timer for the pizza jerks him out of his downward spiral. He puts on Netflix while he eats and grabs his phone and sends a text with greasy fingers.

___I've been reading the books. Interesting stuff._

Jack doesn't get an answer back straight away, not for two whole episodes of Futurama. It's plenty of time for him to worry that Pitch isn't interested in him after all, and it's embarrassing how quickly he grabs his phone when the message tone rings out.

**_Pitch:_**

___What do you find most interesting?_

Jack chews his lip. All of it, he wants to say. And I want to explore it all with you. God, I want you to look ___after _me. He considers sending an absolutely filthy response before remembering that Pitch has his daughter with him. Probably not the best start to a relationship.

_The rope stuff. When can we meet up?_

Pitch's response is lightning fast this time. ___Tomorrow evening. 7pm. The coffee shop._

Jack laughs and feels all of his anxiety melt away. Looks like there's no need to worry that Pitch isn't interested. ___Thought you said Tuesday?_

___Apparently I can't wait. Can you make it?_

___Definitely. Hope your having a good weekend with your daughter._

Pitch sends a simple _Thank you. Have a good evening_, and Jack falls back, and Jack falls back with a grin, clutching his phone to his chest like a lovesick teenager.

* * *

A/N: Sorry I didn't upload last week! I've been really ill. As ever, thank you so so much for your favs, follows and comments, you're all amazing.


	11. Chapter 11

Jack wishes he'd suggested they meet at a bar instead. His nerves are jingle-bell-jangling and alcohol would help with that a hell of a lot more than coffee.

The only thing that helps is watching the snow; thick gentle flakes pirouetting through the darkness. His window-seat was occupied by the red-haired woman last time. He remembers his story for her: that she was seeing where she fit into the city before calling it home. It seems appropriate for him, too. While Jack's always lived in New York, it's never really been ___home_. Not that warm, fuzzy sitcom version of home, anyway. It's been a place he's lived. A place haunted by his mother, where every sibling-smile is accompanied by memories of their mother that he can never share, leaving him feeling more a ghost than she is.

Jack's never really fit into the jigsaw puzzle of this city, but maybe he's just been trying to fit in the wrong places. A city like this, there's got to be somewhere he belongs.

Maybe that somewhere is an apartment on the fifth floor of the Dakota.

Jack rolls his eyes at his thoughts. He doesn't bother telling himself he's only known Pitch a few days; he's been reminding himself on the hour, every hour all weekend and it's not done much good yet. The best thing to do it just roll with it, he's decided. Or tried to decide.

When the door opens Jack feels a one-two punch of panic and relief to see Pitch walk in. Today's outfit is a woollen greatcoat and fitted trousers – all black, of course. Those same battered Docs that could really do with a good polish. Snowflakes like stars against his dark hair. Jack's throat feels a little tight as he shoves a smile into place.

"Hey," he says, lifting a hand in a wave. Pitch's eyes find him and Jack's throat tightens a little more. ___Please don't let me screw up again._

"Hello," Pitch says, and shrugs off his coat. Beneath he's wearing a black sweater that clings to his arms, emphasises his lean strength. "How are you feeling?"

"Nervous," Jack says. There doesn't seem to be much point hiding it. Pitch pauses, his hands on the back of his chair, before excusing himself to go and get a drink. It feels good to be honest, Jack realises. So used to wearing masks everywhere, honesty is a novelty.

"So," Pitch says when he returns with a coffee, starkly black against the white mug. "Why are you nervous?"

Jack shrugs, swirling his coffee clockwise. "Because…" He decides to keep up with the honesty. "Because I don't know what you want from me. Because I don't know what I want from you. Because I've been reading those books and some of it sounds awesome and some of it sounds scary and some of it sounds both-" He pauses to take a breath, and Pitch puts a hand over his. His fingers are warm from being wrapped around his coffee mug. Jack's words flutter away like butterflies.

"Let's start with what I want, because that's something I can tell you. As much as I want you, I think we need to take it slowly – no, Jack, let me speak. I think we need to take it slowly because this isn't just about sex. Not for me, anyway. I'm surprised by how much you've affected me, so quickly. It's not often that I take anyone back to my apartment."

"It isn't?"

"No. But before you start to worry, I definitely plan on taking you back there again. Although perhaps not today."

"No?" Even Jack couldn't say if that's disappointment or relief in his voice.

"I was thinking we could go and watch a film."

Not what Jack was expecting, but he'll take it.

The dark helps, and the popcorn-and-candy cinema scent is familiar enough to smooth down the edges of his anxiety. Before the trailers are even over, Jack has relaxed enough to glance at Pitch's hand on the armrest and wait only a few seconds before he takes it, sliding his fingers between Pitch's.

Pitch glances at him, pleasantly surprised, and Jack grins up at him.

"This was a good idea," he whispers as the title spreads over the screen like an oil spill.

"Of course," Pitch says, and gives him a brief kiss, lingering to bite his bottom lip before sitting back to focus on the screen. Jack watches him for another moment before resting his feet on the chairback in front of him, settling into his seat for two hours of explosions with Pitch's palm warm against his.


	12. Chapter 12

When the film ends, the snow is still falling. Mostly it's a slushy mess, but in the park beside the cinema its piling up, virgin white. Jack pushes aside an urge to run through it, to make his mark, to be seen.

A childish thought and he shoves it away. He's embarrassed himself enough already.

"You got any smokes?" He asks, and Pitch pulls a pack from the depths of his greatcoat, along with a heavy silver lighter. Jack lights up and Pitch takes one for himself. The burning embers make strange shadows dance over his face. Jack just stares at him for a long moment, unable to look away. What is it about pitch that affects him like this? He's never met anyone that makes him feel this way, thank god.

"Do you smoke often?" Pitch asks, and the smoke curls in the cold air as he breathes out.

"Not really," Jack says. "But there's something comforting about it."

"You need comforting right now? Was the thrilling conclusion of the movie a bit much for you?"

"Actually, I was going to ask if you'd take me home with you," Jack says.

Pitch stops. When Jack glances back, he is completely still, his expression almost blank save for how tense his jaw is. That makes Jack nervous, makes him wonder what he's done wrong, the way he ___always _manages to do something wrong.

"I just want you," Jack says, almost angry. "And I want to make it up to you, after last time-"

"And that's why I want to take this slowly, Jack. There's nothing to make up for. You didn't do anything wrong. I need you to understand that before we take this further."

"But-"

"If you feel so strongly, you can wait a little longer. Would you rather have a one night stand or a relationship?"

"I want - I just _want_, Pitch." Jack hangs his head and clenches his jaw, trying to find the words but it's like casting a net into an empty sea.

"I know. And that's why I want to wait. You're so - _r____aw_. When I look at you I can see how much you want me. How much you ___need__ – _something. I want to know if that something is me." Pitch takes Jack's jaw in his hand and tilts his head up. "I could take you. I could make you mine, and mine alone." There's rough edges around his voice and his hand tightens on Jack's jaw, only breaths away from pain. He drops his hand and closes his eyes. "I want to do it, Jack. But I won't. In the end it would be terrible for both of us."

"Why?"

Pitch opens his eyes and they're like liquid gold. "Because it would make me a monster."

Jack shakes his head, not understanding. "What next, then?"

"We get to know each other. And when we do start getting intimate we do it slowly. Carefully."

Jack wants to tell Pitch ___no, now__,_ but if he does then he might drive Pitch away. Or he might not, and Jack's not sure which is scarier.

"Alright," Jack mutters and puts his hands on his hips. "So what now?"

Pitch darts forward and kisses Jack on the lips. It's like he means for it to be a quick thing but then his hands go to Jack's waist, he presses close and the kiss deepens slowly, deliciously, leaving Jack gasping and hard.

"Now," Pitch says, breathless. "You go home. I go home. We meet again on Thursday for lunch."

Jack nods wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak. Just when he'd resigned himself to having to do the whole dating thing to please Pitch he does _that_ and Jack's never wanted to be on his knees sucking cock so much.

"Sweet Revenge in the Village. Google it and meet me there."

Jack nods, and then after one more swift kiss Pitch is gone.

* * *

Pitch doesn't take him home on Thursday, nor the Tuesday after. The whole dating thing is fun, and he gets to know Pitch better, which is the point - unless the point is to force Jack to wait, which it might be, since Pitch showed himself to be an epic pricktease on their very first date.

But it makes him sure that he likes Pitch. He's smart, he's sharp and his humour is bone dry.

Jack likes his crooked smile, his confidence, and he's getting a little obsessed with those Doc Marten's. Their date tonight is an Italian place not so very far from the Dakota, and Jack hopes that's a good sign. But as the meal wraps up and the bill arrives, Pitch makes no sign of suggesting Jack go home with him, and there goes the last of Jack's patience.

"We can either go back to your place or I can give you a back alley blow job but ___something _needs to happen."

Pitch pauses as if thoughtful, but he doesn't try very hard to hide his smile, nor the heat behind it. "Very well, Jack. But first, we need to talk."

They go dutch on the bill and head out into the cold. The snow on the ground is turning to slush, but Jack thinks it will snow again. The night has a hushed feel to it, and the promise of snow is a whisper in the air.

When they head over towards Pitch's place, Jack has to fight not to grin like an idiot. Pitch said talk, he reminds himself, over and over. If something else happens, great – better than great, awesome – but he really shouldn't get his hopes up.

He can tell himself that all he wants. It doesn't work. His hopes are sky high, about level with the Chrysler building.

By the time they're in the elevator in the Dakota, Jack's practically bouncing off the walls, both hands curled into fists and fingernails digging into his palms in an attempt to focus himself, to reel in all his whirling thoughts and hopes.

Pitch goes into the apartment first. It's dark. The only illumination is the streetlights streaming in through the open curtains. Pitch doesn't turn on the main light; instead he moves smoothly across the space, and Jack stands in the doorway, blinking as he tries to get used to the dimness. Pitch switches on a lamp; mood lighting, Jack thinks, and grins.

"Come in, Jack."

Jack pauses for another moment. He trusts Pitch. He does. But there's something – symbolic – about stepping into this apartment. Crossing a threshold. He feels the weight of it, although he's not entirely sure what ___it _is. Making a decision, maybe. Choosing to pursue this thing with Pitch. Getting more serious about kink and the way it makes him feel; the way it ___could _make him feel.

He steps forward.

Pitch is sitting in an armchair in front of the lamp. It casts him in shadow and makes him little more than a silhouette. Jack can tell that his hands are resting on the arms of the chair, that he's sitting up straight. He can't see much of Pitch's face, but he can see the flash of his eyes as he watches Jack approach.

Jack perches on the edge of the sofa, not sure what's expected of him. When Pitch doesn't say anything, Jack slides back, puts his arms on the back of the sofa, feigning comfort. He grins at Pitch.

"So, we going to have some fun?"

"We're going to talk. As I said. And first of all, you're going to tell me about your experience."

"Uh." Jack crosses his legs, and wishes he had a beer. "The kinky stuff?"

"All of it. I want to know what you've done; what you've liked, what you didn't like. I want to know what you want me to do to you."

"O-okay."

"And then I'm going to tell you what ___I _want."

* * *

A/N: As ever, thank you so so much for the reviews, favs and follows. I hope you're still enjoying the story, because I'm sure enjoying writing it :D


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